We must be nearing the Front; we were rejoining the main
highroad. My guess was proved correct at the next turning, where a
sentry barred our path.
The sight of his honest French face was like a tonic to me. In some
welcome way it seemed to hearten me for my task. The pistol of my friend
in the tonneau bored through his cape into my side; I sat very quiet. If
I did this four, five, perhaps six times, they might think me cowed
and relax their vigilance. Their suspicions would be lulled by my
tractability and their contempt. Then my hour would strike.
Satisfied with the safe-conducts, the sentry gestured us forward, and
his figure slipped out of my vision as the gray car purred on. The man
beside me chuckled.
"Behold this Yankee! He is as good as gold, my captain. He sits like a
mouse," he announced in his own tongue.
"He'll be wise," Blenheim announced, "to go on doing so." The threat was
in English for my benefit and came from between his teeth.
In front of us the noise was growing. With our next turn we entered the
highroad, taking our place in a long rumbling line of ambulances and
supply-carts and laboring camions, or trucks.
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